


Ingenuity to the Test

by starkind



Series: Genius In The Making [4]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), DC Cinematic Universe, Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Accidental Drug Use, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst and Feels, Blow Jobs, Boys' Love, Crossover Pairings, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Drug-Induced Sex, First Time, Gen, Jealousy, M/M, Male Slash, Multi, On-Again/Off-Again Relationship, Recreational Drug Use, Teenage Drama, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-08
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-02 22:04:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5265359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkind/pseuds/starkind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Welcome to the year 1988.<br/>Tony Stark has already achieved a lot at age 18.<br/>20-year-old Bruce Wayne has yet to find his destiny.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

In 1988, Tony Stark had a degree under his belt, a steady boyfriend in his bed, and exalted plans of doing a master’s degree in engineering in the upcoming two years. Mechanics were his passion, and Bruce envied him for being gifted and clear about his goals. Wayne himself was still working his way through the undergrad ranks, though without real ambition to become an engineer himself.

He had a faint interest in other sciences as well, though not enough to go and pick a new major for the remaining semesters at hand.  
When he shared his need for a personal reinvention, Tony offered him a bona fide solution.  
“See, Moosh, s'what happens when you're all uptight and not go wild every once in a while.”  
  
The Gothamite saw, reconfigured his priorities some more, and began to expand his horizon. A new electronic style of music was coming over from Detroit, called techno, and young Bruce Wayne was feeling the futuristic, minimal feel of it. During many evenings, he soon found himself hanging out around Narcissus club on Kenmore Square; a ten-minute drive by car.

Bruce getting an interest in techno music was exactly the opposite of Tony's liking, being someone who rather preferred solid punk rock or metal. Due to their diverse interests, the two of them started to hang out less and less in their private time, though it was an unintentional, subtle process. They still made a point in spending time eating together at least once a day.

It was an uneventful Thursday evening when the Gothamite surprised his friend by coming back home with his hair cut off short in the back and full of bleached blonde bangs on top. After an audible gasp, Tony started to grin at his latest hair experiment. “Oh boy, you're gonna win _that_ lawsuit f'sure, Moosh.” Bruce threw his bag aside and smacked his insolent boyfriend's behind in passing.  
  
“I might even get away with assault on an underage roommate if I'm lucky.”

Tony rubbed his jeans-clad bottom with a pointed squeal and brandished a wooden cooking spoon around. The red tomato sauce dripped onto the counter and the floor, to which Bruce cast him a reproachful glare. “Roommate? Roommate?? All those friggin' months of monogamy and celibacy, and it just warrants a lousy 'roommate' label?”

An incensed Stark Jr tsked out loud and turned back around to stir the boiling sauce on the stove. Amused, the Gothamite washed his hands under the kitchen faucet, snatched a few paper towels to dry his fingers, and bent down to wipe away the red splotches. After throwing the stained paper away, he moved up to trap the shorter boy between his body and the oven.

“It's cute when you get all huffed up, Tiny Tony.”  
When Bruce put his hands left and right of the counter and leaned in to kiss his nape, Tony drew his head away.  
“I hate it when you call me that. 'S not my fault I'm short, kay?”

Wordless, Bruce drew back, pushed himself away from the counter and Tony's close proximity, and went to fetch his forgotten bag pack from the floor. “I'm going out tonight, just so you know.” Behind him, the sound of rattling plates erupted. “At least eat in while it's still hot.” They munched on macaroni and tomato sauce more or less in silence, opposite each other at the table.

Sullen, Tony poked at the little noodles with his fork.  
“Where you're going? Narcissus?”  
Mouth full, Bruce glimpsed up at him, nodded, and also looked back down at his plate.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unintentional drug abuse and its consequences

The Narcissus was a nightclub on Kenmore Square with a huge, silver, upside-down awning jutting out onto the street. Every inch of the walls and the ceiling gleamed with mirrors, while its visitors were shrouded in a subtle veil of fire-engine-red neon lights. The dance floor itself was no bigger than a little street café, though air conditioned, and spun a fully functional disco ball.

The club was a humbling experience to all self-conscious, wannabe dancers. It was part of the reason shy and withdrawn Bruce Wayne loved it so much. Except for the music, which had him hooked, it was the perfect place to get over his social anxieties and fears all by himself, without any bystanders. Most MIT students went elsewhere for personal entertainment, and those present seemed to be a sworn in cult of underdogs.

Usually, Bruce claimed his place to the very left at the bar, had some juice or soft drinks, and moved on the spot to those hypnotic, vibrant tunes that boomed through the club. Females were sparse around Narcissus; the few that were present wore dyed black or blonde hair, cropped tops, and moved to the beats in almost trance-like motions. Wayne Jr loved to watch them dance, though not in a sexually interested way.

At some point, one of the female regulars began to recognize and wave him hello whenever they would meet at night. Bruce returned the greeting but kept to himself, which eventually prompted the young woman to make the first move and join him for a drink. Amber was 23, a Harvard graduate, and more interested in underground techno than in pursuing her parents' wish for a job in accounting.

They shared a couple of drinks, even though Bruce politely refused Amber's offer to order something stronger. It was rather by accident and due to youthful naivete, that Bruce found himself handed a drink that was not meant for him. At first, he pulled a face at the relatively bitter taste that held a hint of lavender or licorice to it. The previous orange juice he drank had tasted a lot different.

Soon enough, about an hour later, Bruce was soaring on a wave of warm, fuzzy feelings. Such emotional warmth and empathy were unknown to him, and he wished for his boyfriend to be around. A giddy Wayne Jr stumbled through the crowd into the corner of the pay phones. “Tony, hey!!! Tony, you gotta come here, wow, this place is great. I miss you! Please!”

When Tony Stark arrived at the Narcissus via cab twenty minutes later, he found his boyfriend riding on the rushes of exhilaration, dancing on his own to some synthesized techno beats and flashing strobe lights. As soon as Bruce had spotted him, he all but threw himself into his arms. “Oompf! Moosh? What's going on? You drunk?” Worry and suspicion mixed in Tony's voice as Bruce grabbed his face.

He kissed him deep on the lips, right there, amidst the dancing crowd. In the dim, flickering light, Wayne's eyes were huge and dark, and a foreign tug of happiness edging on euphoria was all around him. “Nooo, I think I got the wrong drink, but it's fine, really. And I love you! Have I told you that?” Bewildered, the younger boy stared at the beaming face and found its usual seriousness gone.

“Not... in such brutal honesty, no, but I think it's best if we go home now.” He tried to get a steady grip on the moving Gothamite and frowned. Bruce's skin was feeling too hot to the touch and yet he would not stop dancing. The monotonous beats boomed through the cubical club, reverberated in Tony's ears, and made him nauseous. “You got your car keys somewhere? Hmm? Bruce?”

When he attempted to pat down the pockets of his friend's pants, Bruce took it as an invite to kiss him again, pressing himself tightly against Tony. Such uncontrolled force almost caused the younger boy to fall over backward, but Bruce had clawed his fists into the front of his shirt. “We shouldn't fight again, Tony, like, ever – because I love you. Never loved anyone like you.”

Almost embarrassed, Stark Jr feared the moment when his boyfriend would be sober enough to remember their revealing conversation. “Totally agree with you, B. Hey, come outside with me for a sec there, will you, hm? Loverboy?” Bruce nodded with vigor and intertwined their fingers. Tony steered them out of the packed confines and breathed a sigh of relief when fresh, cool air streamed at them on the parking lot.

The Camaro stood less than ten feet away, and Tony opened the passenger door first. “Hop on in.” At first, it seemed as if Bruce Wayne was about to cooperate without protest. Instead of taking a seat, however, he trapped Tony in between his car and his body, took his face into his hands and kissed him hard once again. After Bruce released his mouth, he put their foreheads together.

“Let's do it. I wanna make love to you. For real. You're amazing.”  
The situation was so surreal, Tony almost felt like crying with helplessness.  
“I... uh, dunno if I'm ready for that right now, Moosh. Can we... just go home first?”

Hazel eyes with dilated pupils opened and took him in. At the short distance, they were almost completely black. Tony's heart began to race with fight-or-flight adrenaline. Eventually, Bruce drew back a little and gave a diffuse smile. “Sure okay. I'll wait. I'll always wait for you, Tony. _Tony_. My sweet _Anthony_. I've always loved your real name, even though you don't. But-- I can wait. Everything's good. We're good.”

Tony took a deep breath, made another attempt at getting his talkative friend into the car, and succeeded. He got behind the wheel of the Chevrolet he had taken apart and put together single-handedly and turned the ignition. Praying to no one in particular to best not run into a police patrol, Tony steered the convertible home with expertise.

Ever since obtaining his driving license for the state of Massachusetts right after he had turned 17, Tony had wanted to get a car himself. So far, however, he had not yet decided on what kind of vehicle to suit his needs, and rather enjoyed being chauffeured around by his boyfriend. Bruce still made a point in never willingly let him drive his beloved possession after that one, fateful peeing incident back in the days.

Twenty minutes later, they were back up in their apartment in Tang Hall. Tony was quick to undress and brush his teeth, always keeping an eye out for Bruce whom he had parked on their living room couch for time being. By now, the Gothamite was slowly coming down from the peak of his high, which reduced him to a limp, tired heap curled up around one of the corduroy cushions.

Tony struggled to undress him the best way he could in his position before he dragged Bruce over into bed. He tried to force a glass of water into him, but only succeeded halfway. “Don't want anything, no water, no food. Only want you 'n some sleep.” Tony relented, though not without feeling Bruce's forehead once more. Three hours after his intake, Wayne Jr's high was followed by a gradual comedown.

By that time, he was shivering under the covers of his bed, and Tony found his heartbeat far too erratic to be normal. He sat up next to him in bed, concerned and worried, and stroked his cheek. “Gee, Moosh, they got you good there. Should we get you to hospital maybe?” Bruce clenched his jaw and ground his teeth as he shook his head no. “I'm not feeling bad, just tired.”  
  
Even as Bruce drifted back off to sleep soon after, Tony remained awake for the rest of the night, keeping an eye out for his boyfriend's regular breathing, and stroked the clammy bangs off his forehead. It was the first time Tony Stark got to experience withdrawal on someone else, and he made a note to tell Bruce about the dangers of spiked drinks.

After the Gothamite had come down from his ecstasy trip a day later, his mood was far from wanting to be lectured. “I don't have to listen to some half-assed advice from the campus' greatest drug lord, okay? Shut it.” Bruce left far too quick for the basement gym to see the flicker of hurt on Tony's features. When he came back an hour later, his boyfriend was gone.

He should return long after Bruce had retired; drunk and angry at the locked door to the Gothamite's own bedroom.  
  
It was the first night in their long history of living together that they did not share a bed.  
It was the very last time Bruce Wayne ever went down to the Narcissus.  
It was going to become a turning point for their future relationship.

 


	3. Chapter 3

“This is... you're un-fucking-believable! I'm not having it. Up. Up and out.”

Bruce's snarl caused a hungover Tony to wince and make a sloppy attempt at covering his ears. From where he lay on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor, wedged between the sink and the toilet, the Stark heir glared up at him. The front of his shirt was splotched with dried up vomit. “Ahh fuck, don' yell. M'head's about to burst.” With eyes hard as granite, Bruce watched Tony pulling himself into a sitting position.  
  
“You _know_ what just happened to me - and yet you go and fuck yourself up on purpose?”  
Unsteady, Tony made a move to reach up and flush the toilet before he closed its lid.  
“Ain't no silly techno boy ravin his ass off, mmkay? I know what'm doin. I'm. In. Control.”  
  
Bruce put his arms akimbo and let out a derisive, curt laugh. It sounded more like a snort.  
“Yeah, sure, that's why you're crawling around on the floor like a cockroach.”  
Blindly groping around, Tony used the first thing he could get his hands on to fling at him.  
  
“Fuck you'n your bad vibes, man.”  
The plunger barely missed the Gothamite's face. Wayne glowered at his friend, undeterred.  
“Could you get any more pathetic, Anthony? Look at you, _'genius'_ – look at you now!”  
  
Said boy growled at the admonition and made another wobbly attempt to scramble to his knees. “Oh, beg pardon Your High-and Mightiness, how _dare_ I go and make myself more important than you. I'm reals sorry. M reaaaals sorry _I_ don't have a bunch of dead parents to justify my miserable attitude 'n feelings all the time. Boo hoo, cry me a huuuge, f'ckin river, kay?!”

Silence.

All that could be heard was Wayne Jr heavy breathing and Tony's occasional coughing.  
“What did you just say to me, you goddamn junkie fuckhead?”  
The venom in his rising voice caused Tony to blink, stupefied, before his mouth twisted with malice.

“I _said:_ Fuck you and your never ending pity party and bipolar mood swings! Grow the fuck up!”

Bruce knew Tony was high as a kite.  
Bruce knew it was not him talking, but the cocktail of stimulants in his system.  
And because he knew, it made the situation even more gut-wrenching.

“God, I hate you. You disgusting, lowlife excuse of a human being.”  
For a second, Tony just stared at him through bloodshot eyes. Then the moment was gone.  
“Go. Leave. We're done, Bruce, ya hear? Fuckin' DONE! I'm sick of your holier than thou shit!”

Bruce spun around on his heel and slammed the bathroom door shut so hard that the walls shook. Tears threatened him from the corner of his eyes, but he rubbed them away with a sleeve; so vicious that the sensitive skin around his lashes started to burn. Over the course of the next ten minutes, the Gothamite had packed most of his belongings into a backpack and a small suitcase.

He threw the keys to their apartment onto the table of the living room and pulled the door shut behind him. Bruce then phoned Alfred Pennyworth from a public phone on campus, to request being picked up at the airport, and dropped out of MIT before finishing his third year with any kind of degree. He did not see Tony Stark again before he left Massachusetts at the beginning of spring 1988.

* * *

“Master Anthony called again last night.”  
  
Alfred's tentative voice echoed through the library of Wayne Manor. The butler put a cup of steaming coffee in front of Bruce's curled up figure on the big wing chair in the corner. “He was very insistent on you calling him back.” Face impartial, Bruce flipped another page of the brochure he was reading. “Why did you pick Princeton again, Alfred? I mean, I could just as well go Yale. Or Stanford.”

The 21-year old briefly glanced up and made a move for the cup. The butler cocked his head. “Choose whatever college you prefer, Master Bruce. If I may advise, it might be wise to stick to one faculty long enough to actually make it past graduation and obtain a certain degree.” Slurping a little around the hot beverage, Bruce missed out on the reprimanding look of his butler.

“I'm not doing physics again, Alfred, that's not my thing. Science in general, maybe, yes, but working on engines and such...” The mental picture of Tony wielding an angle grinder working on his Camaro popped up in Bruce's mind. Tony wiping his sweated brow with his wrist. Tony's seductive grinning as he strutted towards him, taking off his greased t-shirt in the process. Tony being all sweaty and...  
  
He pushed the images away with a violent shake of the head. His beloved Chevrolet Camaro had long since been shipped to Gotham, but was collecting dust ever since, stowed away under a car cover in one of the many garages at the vast premises. “... I don't know yet. I have to think about it some more.” Pennyworth obediently took the handed stack of brochures from him and turned to leave.

“Very well, Sir. May I just remind you again of Master Anthony's request for a returned call?”  
Hazel eyes narrowed over the rim of the steaming mug.  
“You may, and you just did.”

When Bruce made no move whatsoever and cast a brooding glare out of the window, the dignified butler decided to not press on any further.

 


	4. Chapter 4

From his place on the couch, a frustrated Tony threw the receiver back upon the phone with a rattle.  
It was the tenth time he had tried to get a hold of Bruce at his hometown and had yet been another fruitless one.  
Plus, the butler who answered the phone each time had put him off rather blunt during the last three calls.

At first, Stark Jr had refused to believe his friend would actually go and act out on his threat. After the first 24 hours without any sight of Wayne Jr, however, Tony got antsy and began to search high and low around campus. His ways took him all over town, to all places he connected to Bruce in any way, only to come up empty. Back home, he then discovered all of the Gothamite's stuff was missing. 

After slamming the closets shut, Tony threw himself headfirst upon Bruce's vacant bed. There, he screamed into the pillow until he was hoarse, his fists punching the innocent item over and over. At the lingering, familiar scent all around him, his screams eventually turned to sobs, punching turned to clenching, and the young boy eventually started to weep out into the night.

At some point, exhaustion made him drift off into a dreamless slumber, only to wake disoriented and alone.

For the upcoming days, Tony would sit and chain-smoke upon the windowsill, staring out into the distance. He missed out on all of his classes, forgot to eat, and only went out at night when the chances of running into his professors and fellow students were as slim as possible. He spent most of them at The Channel, or any other location willing to show him a good time.

People flocked to him and his never ending money supply, and Tony used and abused them all.  
  
It was only a matter of time until someone introduced him to the powdery substance called cocaine. The effects were instant and euphoric. For the first time in weeks, Tony felt energetic, talkative, and mentally alert. Nothing like the heartbroken, pathetic youngster who was bawling his eyes out over some emotionally constipated boy from Gotham City.

No, Tony Stark was back at the top of his game, and he intended to stay there. His genius mind reveled in the doses of marching powder he snorted in the evening, right before an important test or the deadline for a paper to be handed in. It was only when he was coming down from his frequent high sprees that Tony felt a sense of utter loneliness creep up on him.

When two of his regular suppliers then left town almost at the same time, Tony became irritable and restless. The first time he experienced an anxiety attack in the middle of the night, the Stark scion clutched the receiver of the phone close to his shivering chest, unable to dial with shaking fingers. When he woke the next day, scared by the experience, he was glad to find his body cooperating again.

“Hi, Jarvis, I'm just calling to let you know that I'm coming home... for a while.”

* * *

Having just returned from his daily run outside the Manor's premises, Bruce gulped with greed from the water bottle Alfred had left for him. When the phone started to ring and did not get picked up, he looked around. “Alfred!?” Irritated, Wayne Jr yelled for his missing butler two more times, only to sprint over to the study room to put an end to the annoying, shrill ringing.

“Hello?”  
No answer at first.  
“Who's this?”  
  
Bruce frowned at the heavy breathing down the receiver.  
“... M—Moosh?”  
Tony's voice sounded small and far away. Wayne Jr inhaled audibly.  
  
“Moosh, please, don't hang up! Please! I need to talk to you, need to hear you, I... hello?!”  
Bruce said nothing at first and only stared ahead into the green gardens of Wayne Manor.  
“What do you want, Tony?”  
  
An insecure laugh over the line.  
“Didn't get my messages there, eh? Can we meet? Been so long, like, what? Four months?”  
Bruce closed his eyes for a brief moment.  
  
“Five and a half.”  
His own voice sounded constricted, and he cleared his throat. Tony instantly mimicked his action.  
“Far too long. I'm at home now, New York. Ever been here? Wanna come? Moosh?”  
  
Bruce put his left hand to his mouth and gnawed at the edge of his ring finger.  
“I... don't know.”  
At that point, Tony sprang into action and began to ramble.

“I gotta car now, a Vette! We could go round town and I'd show you the city. Drive up to Greenwich. Eat at Lucky Strike's. You'd like that, I'm sure. It's gonna be rad. Plus, I don't have many lectures to attend right now, so we'd have plenty of time! Whatcha say? Hm?” Bruce watched the sweat run down from his bangs to drip upon the small, pine telephone table.  
  
“I can't tell you right now, I'm... busy.”  
The lie slipped from his lips with unease, but Tony seemed to be content with grasping at straws.  
“No prob, no prob, guess I can... can I call you tomorrow again, maybe? Just to talk?”  
  
Young Wayne swallowed and rubbed at the droplets on the dark wood with two fingers.  
“Yeah, okay.”  
Hidden inside the conservatory, Alfred Pennyworth listened along before he went back to watering the plants with a small smile.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sexual encounter(s) between two teenage boys in this one. Consider yourself warned..

When the two of them finally met again, it was the summer of 1988, and Tony had worked long and hard at making amends for his mistakes. His former best friend had eventually caved in and followed the invitation to Tony's hometown, after fretting at Wayne Manor in Gotham without prospects. On a bright day mid-August, Tony was there to pick him up at JFK airport.

Bruce squared his shoulders as he exited the electronic doors of the arrival gate, and walked over to the fancy C4 Corvette convertible in daring red that parked at the curb. Tony Stark sat, one hand casually resting atop the steering wheel, and broke into a cocky smirk upon spotting his friend in the crowd. He wore a silken shirt with rolled up sleeves, a pair of Ray Ban shades, and a golden Rolex GMT Master II around his wrist.

His grin widened even more as he took in Bruce's tall, athletic appearance. The Gothamite was dressed in a slim black t-shirt, a pair of stonewashed jeans, and some dark Van's sneakers. He had gotten his hair trimmed before he left Gotham City; now sporting a preppy cut to go with his clean-shaven face. Tony arched a groomed eyebrow up as Bruce made his way over to him.

“Welcome to the Big Apple, stranger. Need a ride?”  
The ambiguity of his statement lingered in the air. Bruce Wayne slid into the passenger seat.  
“No flowers? Your game is weaksauce.”

His voice was gruff on purpose. It prompted Tony to laugh and nudge him in the thigh.  
“Aw, shucks, if only I'd known. Next time there'll be roses, so you'll know I'm serious.”  
Once the Vette ignited, Bruce's attention focused on the latest sports car on the market. Tony beamed with pride.

“Yeah, got it a couple of weeks ago. You like it? It's no Camaro for sure, but it's hot.”  
A thin-lipped grin hushed over Bruce's angular features. He observed the traffic in front of them.  
“Appearances aren't everything. Most of the time they lack substance.”

Tony formed a mock-scandalized expression with his mouth. When he had to stop at a red light, he pulled his shades down to examine his guest from head to toe over the rim. And had to smirk again. “Coming of age seems to suit you, Moosh, all that wise and grown-up talk. I like it.” Over the course of the past months, Stark Jr's voice had lost its cracking and turned into a deep, smooth baritone.

Not knowing whether Tony was mocking or complimenting him, Bruce stayed silent. In less than fifteen minutes, they reached the townhouse of the Starks and its private parking lot. “Are your parents at home?” From where he was busy pocketing his shades and locking his car, Tony shook his head. “Nah. Dad's at the office, and mom's still in the Hamptons... doing charity stuff or whatnot.”  
  
They rode side by side in the elevator all the way up into the private quarters of Stark mansion. Bruce remembered Tony's room from three years ago and was surprised to find it fairly unchanged. The only thing that struck him as new was the king-size bed sitting enthroned in the middle. He placed his carry-on luggage aside and fastened his eyes upon another familiar item on the bed.

It was his old gray MIT t-shirt with its dark red logo and three little holes under the left arm. Bruce stared at it as Tony stood next to him and followed his gaze. A wistful, rather sheepish expression flickered across his face. “Still the comfiest to sleep in.” Tony then reached out to place the shirt aside with care. “Plus it feels good when I'm in something that's been on your body.”  
  
Instead of further talk, the Gothamite attacked him with a vigor, throwing the shorter boy back onto the huge bed. Bruce followed suit; lips and tongue hungry for a taste he had missed dearly for the past few months. Once Tony was able to come up for air, he gasped. “Your opinion on appearances aside... _y_ _ou_ look even hotter than I remembered you to be.”  
  
His hands began to roam around Bruce's torso, pulling his shirt from the waistband, and plunging a shameless hand down into the strained pair of boxer briefs. What he felt there caused Tony to hum with delight. He began to fondle the growing bulge with care. “Looks like someone's been missing me as well, eh?” Impatient, Bruce yanked the silken button down shirt off Tony's tanned body.

He noticed how his scrawny form had filled out some more over the months. While he did by far not possess as much muscle mass as Bruce himself, Tony had become rather wiry and lean. Seeing the appreciative glint in the Gothamite's eyes as they roamed across his naked torso, Tony took his hand out of Bruce's pants, raised both arms and put them behind his head.  
  
He then stretched and flexed at the same time, a seductive, sly knowing grin on his face.  
“D'you like what you see, Moosh? Am I turning you on?”  
Dismayed at the loss of touch, Bruce growled and put his hands left and right of Tony's head.

“Shut up and just fuck me, okay?”  
His fervent hiss and the way he ground his pelvis against him caused the younger adolescent to give a purring sound of surprise.  
“Been waiting for those words far too long.”

Tony hooked one leg around Bruce's waist and used momentum to twist them around and straddle him. Their first intimate encounter was pure carnal desire; a 69 to release mutual pent-up need by sucking each other off in a matter of minutes. When Bruce, still panting from his first, mind-shattering orgasm in months, reached out for his lover, Tony robbed over to his nightstand.

“If you want the full monty, it's gonna require some preparation.” Curious, Bruce watched him placing a small nondescript bottle and a couple of condoms aside. Tony's lithe body then sneaked back and draped himself by his side. “Ever done it? Bottom I mean?” Feeling awkward and inexperienced, Bruce shook his head. Tony pushed himself up to be able to kiss the lingering doubts away from his lips.

“Try it and make up your mind later, okay? I'm gonna make it worth your while, I promise.”  
  
They started out with a long shower, making out under the warm lapping water stream. There, Tony's fingers began to stake out the territory he was about to mark. When they stumbled back upon the bed, skin damp and arousal resurfacing, Tony made use of the neutral smelling lube. “Tell me if it's good or if it hurts. If it hurts, we'll stop immediately.”

Bruce nodded, caught in a strange sensation of being aroused and anxious at the same time. When Tony positioned himself above him, there was an uncomfortable feeling close to pain. After several minutes, it gave way to a sense of elation. “Tony...” Breathless, Bruce forced his eyes open and took in the enraptured expression on Tony's not so child-like face anymore.

An attractive young man stared at him; eyes full of lust.

“You're so hot, Bruce – God, you feel so good.” Up to that very moment, Bruce had not known to possess the need of having Tony buried deep inside of him, but it did not take him long to find out it was exactly what he had been yearning for. He joined Tony's groans as the latter managed to reach a spot that made him whimper. “Stroke yourself for me, come on.”

From where his hands had been clawing into the expensive cotton sheets, Bruce reached over and began to pleasure himself right in front of Tony's hungry eyes. The feeling of being about to explode almost made him stop, unable to prevent his grunting sounds. “I'm gonna come, T-Tony, I can't...” The latter then bent down to capture his lips in a sloppy kiss, arms quivering from the force Bruce's thighs put against them.

“Just some more, I'm almost...” Tony continued to thrust into him for a few seconds before he erupted in guttural moans. With a strangled sob mere heartbeats later, Bruce arched upwards and threw his head back, his whole body quivering from the force of his orgasm. He was only dimly aware when Tony flopped forward, limp and spent, and heaved deep breaths upon his chest.

Bruce heard them as if wrapped in cotton wool, distant and far away. It was a strange feeling to have Tony slip out of him soon after, and he curled up on one side, caught up in a spaced out haze. Soon the mattress dipped in, and his shoulder got peppered with a trail of kisses. A tanned arm wormed around his waist and pulled him close. “That was amazing. You were amazing, Moosh.”

Tony nuzzled the area around his ear and ran his fingers along his temple. After a while, Bruce turned onto his back and crossed his arms behind his head. They lay side by side and let the sweat cool their bare bodies until Stark Jr grabbed a pack of cigarettes from the drawer and shared with his friend. “Tell me again why we haven't done this way earlier?”  
  
Bruce blew out a solid trail of smoke up in the air and grimaced.  
“Because 16 can get me 20, you genius.”  
Tony at least had the decency to squint in concentration for a few heartbeats.  
  
“Think that's only when you're debauching me, not vice versa.”  
He worked his jaw so that the upcoming gust of smoke was a couple of neat little rings.  
Bruce watched them waft lazily in the air, right before Tony poked a finger at them.

“Who knows.”  
Dark brown eyes then looked at him, a certain, soft glimmer in them that seemed unfamiliar.  
“I've missed you, Moosh. God knows I did.”

With his glimmering stub out of range, Tony then leaned forward and gently kissed him.  
“Stay with me for a while? Here in New York?”  
Bruce nodded against Tony's half-opened lips.  
  
“Yeah.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

The next morning, after spending most of their energy in between the sheets, a table full of pancakes, fresh orange juice and coffee awaited them. Edwin Jarvis hovered on the rim of their periphery; attentive but discreet. Bruce had stopped being awkward and embarrassed around the butler only after Tony had reassured him Jarvis' hearing problems had worsened over the course of the past year.

“So you haven't even registered somewhere yet? Why's that?”  
  
Juice from the sliced orange Tony was sucking in between half-closed teeth dripped on the table. Bruce willed his nefarious mind to keep the blood from rushing to his nether regions and cast a glance at the bread basket instead. “I'm not sure yet, s'all. There are many options – Harvard, Yale, Princeton...” A derogative snort from the genius next to him, then Tony leaned back in his chair.  
  
“Boring, Lame, Tedious is what I've just heard. No offense, really, but...”  
Wayne Jr wanted to object, cheeks already burning at being ridiculed, but Tony waved him off.  
“...right now, you got what? Magna cum nada, Moosh - despite your time at MIT. Stay classy.”  
  
The linen napkin in Bruce's left hand crumpled as he clenched his fist around it. “It's a good thing _you're_ genius enough for the both of us then.” Anger resounded in his voice, but Tony chose to overhear it. He lit a cigarette and threw the lighter next to his coffee mug. “I'll be off that goddamn campus in less than a year. And you know what that means, right?”

At the puzzled glance the Gothamite cast him, Tony was quick to elaborate, smoke wafting through the air as he gesticulated around. “Our plan to go to California to learn to surf. Remember? It's still valid. Right?” Bruce rubbed at a speck of raspberry jam on the white table cloth next to his plate. “I need to go back to Gotham soon. Alfred wants me to make a college decision by the end of the month.”  
  
His resolve was weak, and Tony heard it. He slurped the rest of his coffee, scooted his chair closer, and nudged his shoulder. “Don't leave. Not yet.” Bruce slid his eyes sideways. “I have to.” Tony's free hand then found its way on Bruce's thigh and squeezed. “Two more weeks? We can easily go to Malibu now, how bout that?” His fingers began to slip past the edge of Bruce's boxer shorts.

“Tony.”  
Bruce's voice sounded firm, even if his leg started to twitch under Tony's raking motions.  
“... what if I just...”

Before the Stark heir had reached his destination, Wayne Jr stilled his motions.  
“Hands off.”  
Tony pouted and drew back.

“Killjoy.”  
Victorious for once, Bruce leaned back in his chair, a glass of orange juice in hand.  
“I'll stay for five more days. But I'd better learn how to surf in those.”

The delighted grin Tony graced him was worth getting an earful from Alfred via phone later on, Bruce decided. Despite his scolding tone, the butler still sent him the necessary belongings in a suitcase all the way from Gotham City.

* * *

Their days in Malibu were even greater than the Gothamite had imagined them to be. They would wake early in the mornings around 6 am, grab a quick bite to eat, and head out to catch the very first waves of the awakening ocean before anybody else was out surfing. Each time Tony went and threw himself into the waves with a loud “Cowabunga”, Bruce cracked up.

After half an hour, they would return, hungry and tired, to wash the salt water from their bodies, power up the coffee maker in their rented beach house and eat a sumptuous breakfast. It was usually followed by some sweat-inducing love making session, after which they got back into their swim trunks and headed for the ocean and the beaches once more, till sundown.

The nights, however, should be the ones carving themselves deep into Bruce's mind.  
He knew Tony was famous for his out of control partying by now.  
What he did not yet know was how Tony was also famous for doing cocaine at The Odyssey Club on Beverly Blvd.

 


	7. Chapter 7

From their spots high up on the lounge, they watched the spectacle below. The Odyssey catered to the under-21 crowd, played disco, new wave, pop and rock in equal shares, and had a lighting system that caused Bruce a severe headache the longer he looked at the dance floor. At first, he was positively surprised at the lack of alcohol, until he witnessed how easily available drugs were when a guy tried to sell him mushrooms.

Disgusted, the Gothamite told him off and shot his friend sitting close next to him on the couch a pointed look. “That's really fucked up, think about it. No booze, but they go and sell stuff as it was candy.” Tony put his right ankle upon his left knee and granted him a generous view of his spread legs. “Relax, Moosh, you're free to take it or leave it. Nobody's forcing you to do anything.”  
  
His arm then went over the headrest of their white leather couch and cupped Bruce's shoulder. “Speaking of doing it... have I told you how much I wanna do you here, bent over the couch?" Tony leaned in to brush his lips against Bruce's neck as he spoke. The other boy shifted slightly. “Stop it, what if...” Tony's free hand traveled further south. “... someone's watching? They'd be jealous I get to fuck with such a hot guy.”

Bruce felt his jeans starting to tighten at Tony's ministrations. Still, he moved to grasp his wandering fingers in his hand and threw him a look of reproach. “Not here, c'mon. Let's finish our drinks and get back home, then we can see about your idea.” With a nettled groan, Tony drew back.

“Why can't you be a little more flexible and spontaneous, huh? It's not like at least half of the people in this club are gay, y'know? Or have you been walking in with your eyes closed?” His voice held a certain kind of malice as he removed his trapped hand from Bruce's grip.

“I don't have to be spontaneous and flexible – otherwise I'd be one of those...” Bruce pointed his thumb at a group of young, sparsely clad boys who danced for the crowd. “... stripper dudes down there. If that's what you want, well, sorry to disappoint.” The arm around his shoulders drew back. Tony then slid to the edge of the couch. “They're not strippers, for starters, and when did you become so tight-assed by the way?”  
  
Wayne Jr crossed his arms in front of his broad chest and locked his jaw in a derisive way. “I didn't become tight-assed, you just became a real wildcard over the past few months.” A multitude of emotions flashed over Tony's face; not fast enough to hide it from Bruce, but too fast to understand its consequences. The Stark heir moved to stand up and gave a wave at one of the dancers who looked up at them.

Bruce watched him, expressionless. “You're on quite friendly terms around here.” Tony's smile became diffuse as he turned back around from the banister. “Imma go say hi. Be right back, kay? Anything you wanna drink, just put it on my tab.” From above, Bruce witnessed as Tony went to hug and smooch the dancer in question.

The blonde guy then put his arm around Tony's waist and pointed to something in the distance that was out of Bruce's line of view. The Gothamite glared daggers down to where his boyfriend leaned in close to listen to something being said into his ear. Tony then craned his neck upwards and caught Bruce's gaze. Over the ruckus of music and chatter, Stark Jr held up his hand and spread his fingers wide.  
  
Five minutes.

Bruce's forced his jaw to relax and his head to nod, once. His eyes followed Tony's form over to a spot behind the bar until he lost sight of him. Four smoked cigarettes and an empty glass of ginger ale later, Bruce still sat alone and waited. He decided to meander over to the bar and look around. A middle-aged barmaid eyed him and caught his wandering gaze. "You're Tony's friend, aren't you? What can I do for you? Another drink?"

Bruce's lips curled with refusal. "Do you know where Tony is? He's been gone for almost twenty minutes now." The barmaid put up a knowing, almost pitiful look as she wiped over the black marble counter. “It'd be better if you just wait here, sugar. Some things are not for the untrained eye.” The Gothamite noticed the moment her eyes flew over to a door in the back. “I'm gonna go looking for him.”  
  
With an irritated frown, Bruce pushed himself off the bar and went for the door labeled 'private'. The noise level died down to a moderate level as soon as the door clicked shut, and he relished the momentaneous tranquility. A door next to him said 'Janitor', another one had a 'Danger - High Voltage!' sticker. From somewhere down the gray-colored aisle, laughter and voices could be heard.

Making his way down further, he soon stood in front of a dark red door that was framed by a stringy, black feather boa. His hand lingered on the doorknob for the longest time, until he heard an unmistakable voice erupting in something between a scream and a giggle. Bruce wasted no more time and yanked the door open. And walked in on Tony amid an orgy with male escorts and female strippers.

Seeing his friend getting blown by a tall, dark guy while a girl shoved her tongue down Tony's throat almost made Bruce throw up on the spot. “Hey, who are you? What do you want?” One of the male escorts grinned at him, the same blonde from before. His state of undress made it hard for Bruce not to stare at his very visible arousal. Wordless he pointed his chin towards the naked boy in the middle of the circular, velvet bed.

The young escort grinned and ran a hand over Tony's bare thigh. “Hey, Anthony, your friend's here, maybe he wants to join us?” The worst part of it all was the vacant look Tony cast him; so very much out of it that Wayne was not sure he even recognized him standing in the doorway at all. On shaking legs, Bruce tore himself away from the scene, stumbled out of the club and hailed a cab to the airport.

* * *

When Tony Stark was back to being halfway sober the next day, Bruce Wayne was gone without notice.

He left Malibu three days after the incident, seeing Bruce did not show up at the beach house again, and phoned the Manor in Gotham first thing upon returning to New York. It was the butler who answered his call. His voice, while dignified as usual, held a derisive undertone. Tony swallowed around a coated tongue and wiped some sweat off his forehead.

“Can I speak to Bruce... please?”  
“I am afraid you cannot, Sir.”  
“Hmm, yeah, well, I guess I'll try later then.”

“Pardon me for being this straightforward, but that will only lead to the same results.”  
“Oh. Okay, I... tomorrow then, maybe?”  
“Negative, Sir.”

“C'mon now, what's with this 20 questions bullshit – when can I speak to Bruce?”  
“Kindly watch your language, Mister Stark.”  
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, sorry. Now – when?”

“Master Bruce does not reside at Wayne Manor anymore since yesterday morning.”  
“W...where did he go, Alfred?”  
“Master Bruce asked me not to give out detailed information on his whereabouts, I am sorry.”  
  
“England? It's not England, now is it?”  
“I am not permitted to give out any details about Master Br...”  
“Screw that, just tell me he's still in the country! Please, it's all I need to know!”  
  
Something in the teenager's desperate voice caused Alfred Pennyworth to soften his words.  
“I am fairly certain of that, Master Anthony.”  
The line went dead without preamble.

  
**End of part IV**


End file.
